


Ill-Met in Cumberland

by Arcanista



Series: Our Own Sins [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Relationship, crackship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3360944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcanista/pseuds/Arcanista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the threat of Corypheus no more, the Hero of Ferelden heads to Cumberland in the hopes of speaking with the Grand Enchanter. Instead, she encounters someone else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ill-Met in Cumberland

**Author's Note:**

> This is in-continuity with the various stories using Iskia Lavellan. This is largely set-up for later fics and to help me get a feel for how well these two characters work together. Shouldn't be necessary to read either the other Iskia stories or to read this in order to follow other stories written later. I appreciate if you do, though, of course! :)

Sidora was too good by far to be playing in a place like this. Could have been plying that lap-harp for one of the Pentaghasts, singing her songs in an inn of quality. Not a dingy rat's nest just outside the alienage. But then, with her looks, she shouldn't have been outside the alienage at all. Any elf would be putting herself at risk here, but her? A woman of inscrutable age, with an unlined face but hair white as snow. She dressed to match: today a dress of white satin, silver ribbons at her wrists. She was tiny, in height and frame; too strong a breeze might catch and steal her away.

It might have been the mabari that curled beneath Sidora's chair that kept patrons respectful of her. But he spent most of his time sleeping, and she paid him little mind. She did openly carry as large a knife as was legal for an elf, but she hardly looked able to use it. There was something to the turns of her silken voice, perhaps, that left people assured they wanted to leave well enough alone.

She seemed entirely unconcerned, at least. When she finished playing for the evening, she would take a table to herself in the corner of the room. Usually, she was alone. Tonight, an elf in a travel-stained cloak approached her. "Could I buy you a drink?" he asked.

Her dog lifted his head, warily eyeing the stranger. But Sidora seemed to pay it no mind. "I'm done playing for the evening," she said, waving to the harp on the table. "So, if you're looking for a request, I'm afraid it'll have to wait until tomorrow. If it's just a drink, however..." She cocked her head, smiling up at him as she looked him up and down. "Well, no promises. But take a seat, if you're of a mind."

He waited until the barmaid had come and gone, setting down a pair of mugs of the bar's least-acrid ale. Only then did he take off his cloak, draping it over the back of a chair. He was bald as could be, with severe features and a cleft in his chin. "Thank you," he said, offering her a hint of a smile. "I admit, I wasn't certain you would say yes."

"I'm stricter with shems," said Sidora, curling her fingers around her tankard. "But if you'll pardon my saying so, I've not seen you here before. Was there something you were looking for?" She looked up at him through her frosty lashes, turning those big, violet eyes upon his face. Her teeth slide over her lips. Concentration? Or curiosity?

The stranger lifted his tankard to his lips, veiling his own expression somewhat. "One does not expect to see a Grey Warden in a place like this," he said mildly.

"Hmm?" said the minstrel, turning her head to glance toward the door. "Where?"

"I have no wish to invade your privacy," said the stranger. He did not whisper, but his voice was pitched low enough that it did not carry beyond their table. "But the Hero of Ferelden is a distinctive individual."

Sidora kept looking up at him with that guileless look on her face. "That's certainly a suggestion," she said. By her feet, the mabari stirred into more wakefulness. There were no edges to her voice when she spoke, "What business would you have with her if that were so?"

"That would depend on her business here in Cumberland. I would not wish to make too many assumptions."

"It seems you have the advantage of me," said Sidora. She laced her fingers together, tapping her pointers against each other. "You're looking for me, then. How is it that you...? Ah. You're with this... this Inquisition. I'm afraid I have nothing further to offer you."

"I am not with the Inquisition," said the stranger. "Though I was, for a time. It is because of them that I knew to look for you. I did not expect to find you in Cumberland, however." He kept his attention focused on Sidora's face, though she gave him not an inch.

No, in fact she kept watching him. She was smiling, yes, but politely and no more. "I have business with Grand Enchanter Fiona," she said. Her fingers unlaced, one by one, before she sets her hands flat down onto the table. "I'd expected she would have returned by now. I didn't expect a whole competing Circle to spring up overnight. Now, I think I've earned at least a name out of you, haven't I?" Her smile goes bright as she turns its full force on him.

He did not hesitate, but he did clearly consider the matter, leaning back in his chair. "Solas will do. Since you are not speaking to the Inquisition."

"Solas," she repeats. She drags the name out slowly, feeling out every sound in it. "I'm afraid if you expect the name to mean something to me, it does not. You've found me, then. What is it you wish of me?" Sidora finally lifted her tankard to her lips and drank. Her gaze lingered on him curiously, her free hand idly rubbing the table.

"Have you found what you seek?" he asked, looking down at her hands. He finished his drink and set the mug aside. His face too was unreadable, blank and mild.

Sidora shifted, setting an elbow on the table and leaning her cheek upon one hand. "Hmm," she said. "What makes you think I seek anything at all? Or that it is a concern of yours?" Her free hand drifts below the table to scratch the dog's ear.

"There are precious few reasons a Grey Warden who has been no friend to mages would seek the Grand Enchanter who broke the Circle," said Solas. "A surmise, nothing more. She is, after all, a former Warden."

"That's so," said Sidora. "I must ask again. Why are you interested? Does the trouble in Orlais linger even with this Corypheus dead? If so, I cannot help. Or is this a personal matter? I have heard the Inquisitor has taken a Warden for a consort. Even then, I have nothing to offer."

"The matter is personal," said Solas, "but not in the manner you suggest. I have an interest in the answer myself." He shifted in his chair, draping one leg over another. His fingertips settled on the edge of the table.

Sidora straightened and finally set her tankard aside. "Curious," she said. "I've not found what I seek, no. It's true that she's in a unique position to assist me. I suppose there's Weisshaupt too, but, ah." She simply ended the sentence there, looking as though she had no inclination at all to continue along that line of thought. "Come. I think we should continue this conversation in private. If I wanted to dance with words, I would go to Orlais, but I can't very well talk about this out here."

"As you wish," said Solas, rising with her. Then he smiled, and said, "I hope you are not propositioning me."

"Not yet," said Sidora, and she bent to rouse the dog. He stretched out and uncoiled from beneath the table while she picked up her harp. "This way," she said, and led Solas upstairs.

The second floor was about as dingy as the first, but the lock on the door Sidora turned to was solid and of good make. She unlocked the door and let the dog in first, following and letting Solas in last. It was larger than might be expected for an establishment like this; probably the largest room in the place. Papers and luggage took up too much space, but there was room for the dog's bed and some chairs and still space to stand.

The first thing Sidora did once they were inside was set her harp down atop a chest at the foot of the bed. Then she whirled on him, moving like a flash. Sidora drove Solas' back to the door, a knife flashing in her left hand. She slammed her right elbow into his chest, making him gasp. She rose high onto her tiptoes, dagger flipping in her hand, coming to a stop pressed to his jugular. "Who sent you?" she hissed. "If it's the First Warden--"

For all that he was breathing hard from the impact, he looked otherwise unmoved. "No one sent me," he said. His tone was bland as milk, and he made no move to move his neck away from Sidora's blade. "Of that I can assure you. Nor am I any friend to the Grey Wardens. I trust you are aware of what happened at Adamant Fortress."

She did not withdraw the dagger, not yet. Her breath came hot on his neck as she looked up at his face. "I am," she said. "I've also heard the Orlesian Wardens now are little better than another arm of the Inquisition's army. You say you're not with them. Prove it."

"I can prove little with a weapon at my throat," said Solas. "More than that, I am uncertain what I could say might satisfy you. If you are intent on mistrusting me, then there is little I can do to sway you. But I did seek you out for a reason. I would like if that did not go for naught."

A long moment passed, but Sidora withdrew. The dagger stayed out though, as she walked to one of the chairs. She made a sharp gesture at Solas, saying, "Sit, then. And tell me why the Calling matters to you."

Solas followed, sitting opposite her. "I care very little about the Calling. But I have seen many things in the Fade. I have certain insights into the predicament shared by the Wardens. I would ask, though, why you seek to free yourself from the Calling before I say more?"

A few moments more watching him, and Sidora put the dagger away. "Have I not given enough to the Wardens? Andraste's tits, I killed an Archdemon. And more than that. And the more I know of the Wardens, the less they please me. I've never _been_  free. I should like to give it a try, for once."

"Free? From obligation? To choose what to do with your life? From your ties?" asked Solas. "But you make your point. Very well. I am prepared to offer to you what I once offered to the Inquisition. I am an expert on matters of the Fade and of history, among other things. My studies have given me a certain understanding of the nature of the darkspawn taint: and by extension the Calling. You will find no one better-equipped to assist you in freeing yourself of it."

"Hmm," said Sidora, leaning back. Her fingers stroked over the ends of her chair's arms. "What, then, is in this for you? Let me know the hidden catch _now_ , or I'll simply continue as I am." She crossed one leg over the other, letting the slippered foot dangle casually.

"Must there be an ulterior motive?" asked Solas. His gaze drifted down to her foot, then back to her face. He shifted in his seat, relaxed as though he hadn't just had this woman threatening him with a knife moments before.

"There must," said Sidora. "You've tracked down a woman who very much did not want to be found. You've offered her your assistance with something _very_  esoteric. And very dangerous to toy with. I'll take you at your word about your expertise... but I can't just believe you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Solas took a moment before answering, remaining still as a statue otherwise. "You are correct, of course. How much do you know of the Grey Wardens' plan at Adamant?"

"Very little," said Sidora. "My contact in Ferelden isn't the best poised to send me news of the Wardens' inner workings. I know there was a great deal of blood magic. I don't know what I expect anymore." She rubbed her cheek a little, and added, "I grew very tired of expecting the best of them a long time ago. Tell me what I'm missing, then."

"Very well," said Solas, lacing his fingers together in his lap. "With all Wardens in Orlais and Ferelden affected by the Calling-- so far as they knew, all Wardens in the world-- they intended to penetrate the Deep Roads. Once there, they would seek out and slay the remaining Old Gods, and prevent future Blights."

"Maker's breath," whispered Sidora, rubbing her forehead with her hand. "I do need to return to Weisshaupt after all. I _reported_ \-- maybe they know something I don't. But either way, why don't they just _tell_..."

"The Grey Wardens have grown so used to keeping secrets," said Solas, "that they do so for its own sake. The ignorance they cultivate may well doom us all. It seems unlikely that this mad plan will simply vanish now."

Sidora left her head resting on her hand for a long moment. "So what you want is for the Wardens to be stopped. For the Warden-Commander of Ferelden to stop the Wardens. And you expect me to abandon my own search for this. Out of the goodness of your heart. You just... just hop around from person to person, saving the world."

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"At this point?" said Sidora. "Yes. Yes, it is. How do you even know that this plan could be disastrous? And remember you're not talking to someone with a natural trust of mages, so I do need more than 'the Fade' to go by."

"The Fade is the heart of it," said Solas. His hands finally parted, so he could make a gesture in the air. "My studies have led me to spend a great deal of time wandering the Fade. I have seen much that is otherwise hidden: forgotten dreams, history, possibilities. It is... difficult to describe to one unfamiliar with such things. Spirits cluster in places thick with memories. I dreamed at Ostagar and saw the battle there. I saw a brave young woman there, taken with a powerful will to do right. I saw her lift a chalice to her lips and smile, and I did not see her smile again after."

"I was a girl," said Sidora flatly. "A child. And a will to do right is dangerous, when you don't know how to tell what's right. And either you're taking a roundabout route to your point, or you're trying to distract me with flattery. I... don't like to think of that time."

"My point is simply that I have seen the echoes of many events through spirits of the Fade," said Solas. He waved one hand in a short gesture through the air. "And there is no other way I think to make that clear to you. I understand your suspicions. But you will need to trust this much, at least. What I can tell you is that, yes: this has given me insight into the reprecussions of certain irrevocable actions. There are many spirits throughout the Fade that have roamed far enough to tell me of the machinations that led to these events. Even without that, you yourself know that 'right' is not even a consideration for the Wardens as a whole."

Sidora rose from her chair, bent to rest on her knees by the dog. She scratched him behind the ears, and sighed. "I believed in the Wardens, you know. But I believed in a lot of things. I don't know what you want me to do there. But I'll take you to Weisshaupt. If I can convince them to share the information about these... schemes, even if it's just amongst the Order, I'll do so. This plan... it would unleash another Blight, wouldn't it?"

"Very likely," said Solas.

Sidora closed her eyes. "Then I need to put my own work on hold. It was too much to hope for, I suppose." The dog sat up slowly, rubbing against the tiny elf. She patted his side. "This is... this is probably my fault. There are things I wanted to believe. Very badly. Well, it's my place to set them aright, isn't it?"

"Come now," said Solas. "Disaster has not struck yet. Let us not get ahead of ourselves. There will be plenty of time to place blame after the world has ended."

Sidora lifted her head, barking out a dry laugh. "Well, you'll do. I'll need a few days to wrap up affairs here in Cumberland before I'm ready to go, though. Do you have a place to stay? I can't offer more than a chair. You might push them together, they're soft enough, I suppose."

"I do not wish to impose," said Solas. "I can return later, if that would make you more comfortable."

"Give me two days, then," said Sidora. She rose, placing her hands at the small of her back. "Appointments to cancel, bags to pack. And I should send word to Denerim." A moment more to look around the room. "I suppose that will be all I need, then. A shame I didn't get a chance to speak with Fiona. But I'll make do. Maker, but I'm tired of the Wardens."

Solas stood as well, then dipped in a formal bow. "Thank you. How would you have me call you, then?"

"Just... Sidora," she said. "I don't need anything else. I'll look for you here in two days, then." She led Solas toward the door, opning it halfway.

"As you wish, Sidora," said Solas. His gaze lingered on her a few moments more, before he turned and left. Sidora shut the door behind him, where she stood, looking blankly at the wall for a time.

"Andraste preserve me," she whispered. "I didn't ask for any of this. Why..." But her dog stood up to cross the room, plopping on her feet. She did smile now, and moved to sit on the ground and stroke him, curling her fingers in the old dog's fur. There she sat, petting him, composing a letter in her head to the only person she still cared anything at all about.


End file.
